Chapter 2

Cordelia's POV

My eyes snapped open, and I sucked in massive, ragged breaths of cold air. My hands frantically clutched my stomach. The phantom agony of thirteen stab wounds ripping through my spleen and heart still raged in my nerves. Cold sweat soaked my back.

But there was no blood.

I was sitting perfectly intact on the bench in the hospital locker room.

My eyes locked onto the phone dropped on the floor. The screen glaringly displayed the anonymous post I had scoffed at moments ago: "The arrogant hospital heiress, Cordelia Whitlock, was stabbed thirteen times..."

I glanced at the time in the top right corner: Thursday, 8:00 AM.

Eight hours before the massacre.

"Cordelia, the ER just wheeled in a special case..."

Romilly Ashby leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

"I'm not doing it." I cut her off sharply, forcing myself to hide my trembling hands in the pockets of my lab coat.

Romilly froze. "Excuse me? It's an incredibly rare cardiac tumor! Are you crazy?"

"I said I'm not taking it." I snatched my stethoscope from the chair. "I injured my right wrist jogging this morning. I can't scrub in for any major procedures anytime soon. Since it's such a great chance for promotion, Romilly, go take the spotlight yourself."

As long as I avoid that operating table, whatever invisible force is killing my patients can't strike. I will survive!

I shoved past Romilly and strode out of the locker room. But the moment I turned the corner into the hallway, a man in a worn jacket lunged straight at me.

"Dr. Whitlock! Please, save my wife!"

It was Silas Renner.

Looking at this tear-streaked, ordinary man who was practically begging on his knees, my stomach violently churned. Just "minutes" ago, these rugged hands gripped a hunting knife and butchered me like a piece of meat!

I instinctively stumbled backward, hitting a solid chest.

"What's going on?" Emory Vane steadied me by the shoulders. His deep eyes were full of concern. "Cordelia, you look terrible."

I turned stiffly to stare at him.

"I injured my wrist. I can't operate," I said, enunciating every word.

Emory frowned slightly, his composed mask flawless. "Don't joke around, Cordelia. This surgery is critical. Romilly doesn't have the skills for it. The tumor could rupture at any minute. You're the only one who can save her."

"Then transfer her to the Mayo Clinic immediately!" I swatted his hands away coldly.

"She's not stable enough to move." Emory's voice dropped, carrying the undeniable authority of a superior. "If we emergency-page top specialists from other hospitals, the earliest they can get here is tomorrow afternoon!"

I gritted my teeth and raised my voice. "Then wait for the specialists. I told you, even if the sky falls, I am absolutely not scrubbing in today! Contact outside surgeons now, or whatever happens is on your head!"

Leaving those words behind, I ignored Silas's desperate wails and Emory's shocked gaze, and fled.

I spent the entire day hiding in my private office like a frightened rat. I locked the door and refused all calls. It wasn't until night fell, confirming the hospital staff had mostly gone home, that I grabbed my car keys and headed down to the underground parking garage.

In the dim concrete stairwell, the only sound was the clicking of my heels.

Thank God. I survived the day. No surgery, no malpractice, no cold, hard blade.

Suddenly, a tall, stiff silhouette emerged from the shadows of the stairwell.

My heart skipped a beat.

Silas stood there. His old jacket was unzipped, his eyes bloodshot, his lips twitching neurotically. The man who had sobbed at my feet a dozen hours ago now radiated the sickening stench of death.

"Mr. Renner?" I clutched the pepper spray in my bag, my voice trembling.

"She's dead."

His voice was as light as a dead breeze.

"An hour ago... Sylvie's heart stopped in her bed. She couldn't wait for your damn 'outside specialists'."

My blood ran cold. "Silas, I told you, my hand—"

"You're lying!"

Silas roared like a beast pushed past its breaking point. The motion-sensor lights in the stairwell flickered violently.

"They told me everything! You weren't hurt! You elite doctors just thought doing my wife's surgery was too risky! You coward, you watched her die!"

"No... Silas, listen to me, this is—"

"Go to hell!"

Silas lunged forward. His strength was terrifying. Giving me zero chance to explain, his hands clamped onto my chest like iron vises and shoved!

I instantly lost my balance.

Pulled down by gravity, my body fell backward like a broken ragdoll, smashing brutally onto the steep concrete stairs.

A sickening series of cracks echoed out as the back of my head struck the steps.

As the world spun, my neck snapped backward at a grotesque angle. The extreme pain lasted only a second, followed immediately by total paralysis.

I lay wedged between the two flights of stairs like a pile of sludge, my eyes locked dead on the rusted pipes on the ceiling.

My vision faded rapidly, leaving only Silas's hysterical curses ringing in my ears.

Darkness swallowed me once again.